I couldn’t escape Hala’s side for a majority of that day as she asked me questions I truly had no business answering for her. There were several times I tried to brush her off, to send her to her mother to ask them, but she wouldn’t listen. She insisted that Al’Haya wouldn’t bother to answer them, and that I was the only person she could trust with such a personal matter. I grew more and more frustrated, despite knowing as much myself. Finally, I escaped the conversation by deceiving her into thinking I had training with Asad. I needed fresh air after such misadventures, so I went to Namir’s stable and picked out a white horse whose neck was arched and muscular. A sweet mare, with expressive eyes and a happy demeanor. She had become my riding buddy over the past several months, as she kept snapping at Asad when he tried to ride her. It was clear that his sheer size was the issue—but he was too dense to realize that. She let me ride her without issue, and so I’d take her out once every few days. The stable workers called her Riah, and I understood why whenever I urged her to go any faster than a trot.
The horse had brilliant speed, covering at least six miles in five minutes. She was the best horse in the Kingdom, no doubt. I rode Riah until the sun began to set, out towards the jungle; watching as parrots sat atop canopies and lemurs tried to bother them. They’d sit atop a fruit tree’s branch, and pester the birds until they pecked at them. Of course, the lemurs wanted the fruit they’d sit above, and the parrots would inadvertently be helping them gain access to them. It was astonishing how just a few hours’ travel brought so many degrees more of warmth. The many stimuli of the jungle still didn’t quite quell my thoughts, as I imagined how life may have been if I hadn’t managed to weasel my way into living at the palace. I was lucky to have such trivial worries, compared to those I had as a child. My biggest worry back then was surviving the night, with an empty stomach and open wounds from prying open makeshift crab traps. I could still feel the snap of the jerry rigged cage door if I lingered on the thought for too long.
I stroked Riah’s mane as we trotted along the jungle, twittering birds and chattering primates became more active in the later hours of the evening. I tried to stay grounded in the present moment, but I couldn’t stop ruminating over Hala and Namir’s statement. Considering me a noble—or anything more—was a pipe dream. In no way was I as fanciful or important as the Royal Family or their ilk—I was what I am: a lowly-born peasant. I chuckled bitterly to myself. Training with Asad was a boldfaced lie. I had narrowly avoided such tasks by burying myself in books that Namir had nudged me to investigate in his personal library. The only people allowed in were himself, his blood, and his strategist: Iirshad. The man was kindhearted and honest, and as I began visiting the library more often; he had taken me under his wing. He was unlike any other so-called strategists, nowhere near as shady in appearance nor demeanor. His smile brightened the room, and his eyes could either fill you with warm affection, or send you running with your tail between your legs.
Iirshad was the one who recommended other books to me when he picked up on the themes of my interests; historical archives of fallen Kingdoms and their Kings, encouraging me to read even longer books about the cultures of the regions that fell to Zarvan and Strolgia long ago.
“These books aren’t about war, but they’ll keep you busy for a while.” He winked as he handed me three books—all more than 500 pages in length. “Asad never steps foot in here, come to read when he goes to the prayer room in the morning.” He added with a charming smile.
I read those books in a large armchair that was sat beside a window of the library in four days, slithering into the room immediately after eating breakfast and engorging myself with their knowledge. Endless tales of folklore and symbolism. Religions that had died out entirely, or been expounded upon over the centuries. The books were old, but the only sign of it was their smell; the pages themselves were in near-perfect condition. Musky, rotted paper without a single tear or fading of the text—it was a wonder that such books had been preserved, especially considering that Mahsul was only 45 years old when I’d been given them to read.
Iirshad was a man of great knowledge, and he always came around when I needed him most. He was a blessing in his own right. Just as I imagined how he’d handle the current issue I faced with Hala, a Gorchan Beetle whirred past me while I trotted down the path on Riah, nearly sending me off of her by how large it was. I quickly pulled myself from the memories, noticing that the sun was in its final minutes of setting. A small nagging voice always crept in on me in such hours, unworthy, unworthy, unworthy.
With a heavy sigh, I turned Riah around and headed back to the palace. I shouldn’t have left Hala like I had, so confused and alone. But I was far too immature and self-conscious to truly approach the topic head-on. She wasn’t my child, nor was I obligated to be her personal sex tutor. I shuddered at the thought, imagining what that could entail. I’d only been wrestling with puberty for two years, myself, and had many questions of my own. At least I had Asad and Namir, though. I rolled up the sleeves of my tunic, looking at my disappointing forearms and shaking my head.
“They’ll come in someday…” I muttered.
As long as I was helping Asad put that armor on, it was almost guaranteed. That metal was heavier than any boulder—my arms still shook when I had to hold it for longer than a minute, while Asad paused to grab something or adjust his clothing. I was envious of Asad’s strength. Namir was also a man of great musculature. Even Thueban, despite his inability to fight Namir, was formidable in comparison to myself. I never understood what they saw in me; maybe it was their attempt to gain good favor from God; maybe they truly believed me to be a man of great potential. I could deal with their jokes, and how they picked on me for my poor athletic skills. It was Hala’s comments that got under my skin—for some reason I was still too immature to understand. Hala. My chest tightened again as I thought of her. She was such a monumental person in my life, and there I was avoiding her like the plague. I had to. I wasn’t worthy of her attention, so the only time I tried to spend with her was when she had to be escorted to different social gatherings, or on nights I’d finally swallowed the courage to check in on her.
When we were younger, I could stay by her side for endless hours day or night. It wasn’t until she was in her early teens that I picked up on the nuances taking place—I was seen as a peasant by her friends, and potential suitors who were savvy enough to have heard about how we’d met. Jamila was the biggest instigator of the bullying, always pretending like Hala had been the antagonist of how she and I met. The other nobles ate it up, taking her words as truth. Anything they could cling onto in order to smear the Royal name, I suppose. When boys began taking interest in her, something I’d been anticipating—dreading, since she was 10 and I was nearing 12, Jamila made sure to prevent the boys from becoming too close to her. Sure, Hala was abrasive; she was her Father’s daughter. But she wasn’t anything like how Jamila had tried to depict her: a girl with no couth, whose tongue was forked and resulted to violence any time conflict arose. Such rumors wouldn’t help her later in life, either, as fate would reveal.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
I rode up to the gates of the palace, greeting the guards.
“Freznah krodhat.” I said softly. The guards replied in kind, and opened the gates. Riah trotted past the guards and into the main walkways, naturally heading towards the Grand Building. The sun was long past set by now, and I hopped off the horse to bring her back to the stables. Nearly losing my balance as I dismounted, I caught myself and walked with her. She always whinnied at me when I put her up, to which I’d reassure her I‘d be back.
“It’ll only be a couple of days, Riah. Easy, girl.” I said, closing the stall door.
Riah looked at me with her emotive eyes, and I patted her head. Bidding my four-legged friend goodbye, I made my way out of the stable.
Walking through the entrance of the Grand Building, I heard Namir’s voice as it boomed through the throne room. He sounded more distressed than usual, so I picked up my pace and made haste. A problem had arisen. Upon entering the room, Namir was pacing like a caged tiger. A sense of unease welled in my stomach as I heard him rambling to Asad, who was leaning against the column next to the dais as he watched his brother worriedly.
“What have I done, Asad?” He asked, his voice more of a groan.
“You did what you had to, Brother.” Asad reassured him. “Lest we lose valuable trade routes.”
“At what cost?!” He roared. “My daughter’s life?!”
I froze, blinking as I looked between the brothers. Asad laid eyes on me, offering a not-fully-reassuring smile.
“Hala will be fine, Namir.” Asad insisted. “She’s a strong girl, and you’d been hoping for her to find a suitor for years, now. Were you not just stressed out over her inability to find someone a couple of weeks ago?”
A suitor? A suitor? What the hell were they on about?
I cleared my throat, and Namir stopped pacing. His eyes weren’t alight in their usual fervor; they were upset, sad, disillusioned as they met mine.
“Skwayar,” Namir began. “Sit. I need to talk to you.”
I sat at a table close to the throne and watched Namir with more attention than I’d ever given another living being, mortified by whatever I was going to be told. Cold flashes ran through my body, and I kept feeling the sensation of falling deep within my chest.
“Hala has found a husband.” He informed me.
I blinked, looking from Namir to Asad. The King’s brother nodded grimly to me, and I cleared my throat as a lump formed in it. I knew this day was coming, Hala had been announced as ready for suitors three years ago. How was it, that in three years’ time to come to terms with such a thing—I wasn’t ready?
“Who?” I asked, my voice shaking a bit.
I didn’t want to know the answer. I wanted to run out of the room then and there, go find Hala, and hug her to my chest. I wished I could keep her here forever, not in some foreign land where she wouldn’t know a single soul. She’d be alone again, discovering new things by herself—I’d be alone again, never bothering to venture further than the palace doors if the Royal Family was kind enough to let me stay with them.
“Duke Shahin Markovni of Otlak.” Namir replied.
No. No way. Not in a million years.
“I see…” I replied.
I wanted to slap the King, and I think my gaze said as much. Namir didn’t look at me with anger, though, his face was laced with empathy and his eyes filled with sorrow. My anger quelled almost instantly, and the lump in my throat grew larger. If Namir didn’t even have it in him to be angry over this—I couldn’t either. Ever since I’d met that Duke, something about him felt off. His eyes were beady and frightening, with a smile that never met them. When I shook his hand after our Chon game on Hala’s birthday—it was freezing cold. The man was like a vampire, so pale and charming. I half-expected him to dawn fangs and a long cape, just like the myths I’d read in Namir’s personal library. I’d seen him a couple of times since that night, but always made sure Hala never got too close to him. I’d warned her of that Duke, quite sternly as I recalled it. She never understood why, seeing Shahin as a kind and attractive man. Her compliments of him made me want to crawl out of my skin, and I told her as much in the past. She learned to keep her swooning over him to her girl friends rather quickly.
“When is the wedding?” I finally grew the courage to ask, keeping my voice as calm as I could muster.
“On her 16th birthday.”
Six months. That was how long I had with my best friend. Six months. I shot up from the seat and walked out of the room, holding my fist to my mouth to keep from getting sick. I had six months until I had to watch her walk down an aisle to another man—a man who wasn’t me. Halfway down the hall I froze.
I wanted her to marry me?
My hands grew clammy, and I felt my head spin. I made a break for the nearest bedroom, throwing the bathroom door open and letting my dinner come up with such violence I’d never had—even during my worst illnesses. Even when I was a starving child, sick with a parasite from bad drinking water, I’d never been so ill. I retched, and retched, and retched, until I was dry heaving and sweat was making my entire body sticky. I felt my tunic gripping onto my skin, as the cold flashes I once had turned to hot flashes. I had six months to come to terms with the woman I loved marrying another man.
I retched again.
————
When Hala heard of the news, she seemed so nonchalant it worried me. I’d interrogate her about it every so often, and her ability to handle the situation so calmly was infuriating. It took me weeks to accept what had happened—Thueban had launched an assault plan on Shahin after Hamza’s death under Al’Namir’s nose, and the result was Shahin swindling Namir into giving him Hala’s hand. I had to rationalize the situation, because I wanted so badly to blame Al’Namir for letting her be whisked away to Otlak—a land 11 days’ travel away from me, from us. But he wasn’t to blame. Shahin threatened to cut off trade from Zarvan and Otlak if he didn’t give him ‘reparations.’ What was he supposed to do? Lose valuable meats and metals?
I spent many nights in my bathroom, throwing up my days’ meals whenever I thought about it for too long: Hala getting older and loving Shahin, forgetting about Mahsul entirely and bearing heirs to the throne. I imagined her sending only the heirs back, so she could spend more time with Shahin as the rest of us raised the children; a proposition made by the Duke. Before I knew it, we’d approached the day and I was mortified. Why I was so irrational, I’ll never know—but I was right about him, and I’d never live it down.